The Potter
by Ramen-NoodlesIV
Summary: Harry Potter is a little more focused on school, believing a good education and university will get him away from the Dursleys. But what does this mean when our young hero receives his Hogwarts letter? A more street savvy and book smart Harry takes on Hogwarts, add in a slight more complicated magic system, plus a society a bit more stuck at a cross roads, what could go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is my first attempt at writing something, and hopefully it won't go too bad. I'd like to think I'm a pretty good writer, but then again, I've only ever written essays for school and those are very different from writing fantasy or any other kind of story-telling type of writing. I'd appreciate constructive criticism, especially when it comes to pacing and if you leave flames then oh well, I'll still sleep well at night. With that said let's get started I guess…**

 ***Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and seeing as I have been reading on this site for close to 10 years, if I have stolen an idea from someone it is not intentional, I mean at this point we are all just remixing the dictionary anyway am I right?**

"Up! Get up!" Harry woke with a start, Aunt Petunia's voice still grating on his ears as she pounded on the door of his cupboard. "It's Dudley's birthday and everything must be perfect! Get to the bacon, and don't you dare burn it!" Harry groaned, how could he have forgotten Dudley's birthday? It had been almost 10 years since he had been left on the Dursley's doorstep and in that time, Harry had been expected to earn his keep. Slowly rolling out of bed he fumbled in the dim light for some socks and after picking off a spider from one, put them on along with his glasses.

Now dressed, he left his cupboard quietly, heading down the hall into the kitchen only to be immediately assaulted by the garishly bright colors of giftwrap as the table was littered in presents. As he set about fixing breakfast Harry eyed the presents, taking note of the new bike Dudley had gotten for his birthday. Why anyone would gift his fat cousin a bike Harry would never know, not that Harry really had the right to judge someone for their appearance. Looking down at himself he could only sigh. Harry was thin and small, with bright green eyes and hair that went in nearly every direction. His glasses were broken, held together by tape at the bridge, and much too large for his slim face. The only thing about his appearance Harry found to be of interest was his scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt, that was a relic from the car crash his parents had supposedly died in.

Not that appearance mattered much to Harry. His time with the Dursley's had taught him that there were more important things, namely his education. At first, earning grades higher than Dudley's were a quick ticket to his cupboard for a week with no meals, but as he soon realized, if he didn't bother to show his report card, well his supposed family had nothing to punish him for. It was a gamble, but Harry knew he wanted more than what life currently had to offer and to get there, he needed to be as far away from the Dursley's as possible. With good grades came a good university with a scholarship to take him far away from Privet Drive and the scorn of his aunt and uncle, it didn't hurt that the library was the one place Dudley and his little gang of friends had yet to find him.

Ignoring Dudley's whining about how he'd received two presents less than last year, Harry quickly swiped pancakes into the over-sized pockets of his hand-me-down jeans. With relatives that loved to punish him with lost meals, food was a commodity to be treasured. Just as he secured the last pancake, the phone rang, and Aunt Petunia answered while Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap his new bike. Silently in the corner Harry waited, only for his heart to drop when Aunt Petunia came back looking angry and scared. "Vernon," she started. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror and Harry couldn't help but agree with him. Every year the Dursley's took their son and a friend out for his birthday and Harry was left in the care of Mrs. Figg, a crazy old cat lady who meant well enough, even if she did make him listen to stories about her cats. Usually she fed him well though and she always went down for a nap, leaving Harry to his books and the TV on the odd occasion he felt like watching the brain rotting screen.

"What should we do?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking furious as though Harry had been the reason Mrs. Figg broke her leg.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.

Harry held back a snort at those words, because it wasn't as if the Dursley's held any great love for him. Looking out the window he tuned them out. The Dursley's tended to speak as though Harry wasn't there or as if he couldn't understand him, much preferring to bark commands as if he were one of Marge's dogs. Part of him wanted to suggest he be left behind, but he knew better, with his luck the house would probably explode.

All his life, Harry had strange occurrences around him. A science teacher he didn't like having their hair turned blue, his hair growing overnight after a particularly nasty haircut from Aunt Petunia. Once, while running away from Dudley and his gang of bullies, Harry suddenly found himself on the roof with no recollection of how he got there. No amount of explanation that Harry had no clue how those things happened could ever convince the Dursley's that he wasn't to blame.

The sound of the doorbell brought Harry back to reality. "Oh! They're here!" cried Aunt Petunia. Smoothing her dress she took Dudley to the door to greet their guests, leaving Harry alone with Uncle Vernon.

"Listen here, boy," Uncle Vernon's fat finger wagging in Harry's face as he addressed him. "You're coming with us because we have no choice. There will be no funny business today, understand?"

Harry looked squarely at the floor. "Understood"

Hearing his Uncle's footsteps go towards the door, Harry closed his eyes and sighed, something told him today was not going to go well for him.

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That night Harry lay in his cupboard thinking on the events of the day. Surprisingly much of the day had gone well. Being with the Dursley's in public meant they had to keep up appearances, so Harry got fed well and even managed to get an ice cream out of the day. Things all went down south when they journeyed into the reptile house. As usual, Harry was walking about 5 steps behind the others and got particularly interested in a snake Dudley had bypassed for being too boring. A little coaxing and some gentle words had the snake raising its head and interacting, which immediately brought Dudley and his friend back to the snake, pushing Harry out of the way and onto the ground. Not a second after Harry managed to calm himself down did Dudley manage to fall into the enclosure, which had previously been protected by glass. As the boa constrictor slithered away Harry swore he could have heard a hissed " _Thanksss"_ from the snake.

As usual, the instant they entered Number 4 Vernon was quick to send Harry to his cupboard with no meals. Turning, Harry reached for the tin where he kept his small stockpile of food. This was his life, punishments, cooking, cleaning and general punching bag for the Dursley family. Harry finished one of the pancakes from that morning and opened his school bag, with only about a month and a half, final exams would be coming up soon. Harry knew he was smart, and more perceptive than most kids. Living with the Dursley's meant always having one eye open for opportunity and trouble. Harry could only hope that something changed soon. He was wearing thin and as it stood, Harry might not have the strength to make it to college and away from the Dursley's.

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By the time Harry was let back out of his cupboard, the school year had ended, and summer holiday had begun. As usual, Harry spent whatever free time he had outside of the house in the library, away from Dudley and his gang, who were constantly chasing him down for their favorite game of Harry Hunting. Harry, however, was excited. He'd done well on his final exams, getting into gifted classes at Stonewall High and Dudley had somehow been accepted at Smeltings, a private school. As far as the Dursley's knew, he'd be just another student at a less prestigious school, performing far below their precious Dudleykins because there was no way Harry could ever be smarter than Dudley. But for Harry, it was proof he was on the right path. A few years of school Dudley free would be just what Harry needed to make his escape.

For the first month of the summer Harry prepared himself for his advanced classes as best as he could, not even seeing Aunt Petunia dyeing more hand-me-downs gray for his school uniform could crush Harry's rekindled spirit. Of course, Dudley was still as annoying as ever, especially once they got his Smeltings uniform in London. Smeltings boys all carried a knobbed cane or stick, known as a smelting stick. The boys would hit each other when the teachers weren't looking, a method said to build character. Dudley, of course, couldn't wait to try it out on Harry and it was one such morning that yet another weird occurrence began.

Harry woke up and prepared breakfast as usual when the sound of the mail being slipped through echoed into the kitchen.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his morning paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, boy!"

Dodging a swing from Dudley and muttering a quiet "Yes, Uncle Vernon" Harry walked to the door. In a pile on the floor were a magazine, the paper, what looked to be a bill addressed to Uncle Vernon and a letter, addressed to Harry, written in bright green ink.

 _ **Mr. H. Potter**_

 _ **The Cupboard under the Stairs**_

 _ **# 4 Privet Drive**_

 _ **Little Whinging, Surrey**_

The envelope was made of a thick parchment and held no stamp. Running his finger over the flowery handwriting Harry could feel the address had been hand written. Who could be writing to him?

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing? Checking for letter-bombs?" Harry could hear him chuckle at his own joke.

Looking down at the letter Harry resolved to figure it out at another time, stuffing the envelope into his pockets, once again finding himself thankful for the huge size of his cousin's old clothes Harry dutifully carried the mail back into the kitchen. As Harry went about his chores and Uncle Vernon grouched about the bill under his breath, Harry was distinctly aware of the letter resting against his leg in his pocket.

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 _ **HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**_

 _ **Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**_

 _ **(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sore., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**_

 _ **Dear Mr. Potter,**_

 _ **We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**_

 _ **Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**_

 _ **Yours sincerely,**_

 _ **Minerva McGonagall**_

 _ **Deputy Headmistress**_

Harry couldn't help but stare at the letter in shock, it was a short while later and Harry had opened the letter in the safety and privacy of his cupboard whilst Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were busy doting on Dudley as he modeled his Smeltings uniform for them for a second time. Looking through the rest of the pages Harry held back laughter.

'Was this a joke?' he thought to himself. 'A prank by my cousin? Honestly, a cauldron, really? And who sends letters by owl?' Annoyed and fed up Harry gathered the supposed acceptance letter and left his cupboard, going into the living room.

"Nice joke Dudley" Harry began.

"What?"

Harry rolled his eyes at how thick his cousin was and thrust the letter out for all to see. "I mean really? I know you think I'm stupid but an acceptance letter to a fake magic school-"

Harry was cut off by a gasp from his Aunt and what sounded like a wheeze from his Uncle. Harry looked at them, confused by their pale faces.

"Wh-Where did you get that?!" cried Aunt Petunia to Harry's confusion.

"Give it here boy!" Uncle Vernon chimed in. His large, meaty hands snatched the letter right out of Harry's hand. Reading it, with Aunt Petunia right over his shoulder, Uncle Vernon's face paled, then shifted to red.

"I wanna read that letter!" Dudley was mad that the attention had been diverted from him and Harry simply watched on in confusion.

"Out! Out the both of you!" Dudley protested Uncle Vernon's cry and in a shuffle of hands, feet and a smelting stick Uncle Vernon promptly threw both Harry and Dudley out of the living room before turning back, locking the door behind him.

What ensued was a quick scramble to see who could listen at the door and Harry, for all his speed and small frame, could not stop his older cousin from manhandling him out of the way, leaving Harry to listen at the door.

"How could they know?" Aunt Petunia was whispering "They have it addressed to his cupboard, do you think they're watching the house? What shall we do Vernon?! I won't have him go to that freak school I won't!"

"Calm down, Pet" Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's heavy steps as he paced the living room. "We swore as soon as his freakishness began that we'd stomp it out of him, and that's exactly what we'll do! If there's no reply, well they can't very well force him to come, can they? Ignore it and we'll carry on just as we have"

Harry pulled back from the door. It didn't make any sense. They were treating the letter as though it were real, but it can't be. Magic doesn't exist, the Dursleys had always been clear about that. Any reference to the fantasy genre was met with a swift sentence to the cupboard and missed meals. Still, Harry's gut told him there was more to this, and his mind told him that his Aunt and Uncle would not have reacted if there was nothing to fear.

At the click of the door unlocking Harry looked up. "Where's my letter?" Uncle Vernon looked down at Harry.

"I burned it, it was addressed to the wrong person."

In a rare show of anger Harry retorted "It was addressed to MY cupboard, and unless you've suddenly started telling people you keep your nephew in a storage space meant for seasonal clothing, it was meant for me"

Uncle Vernon went red in the face. "To your cupboard now! You like it there so much?! You can bloody well stay there!"

Harry instantly scurried off to his cupboard, berating himself for losing his temper. Harry sat on his bed, his mind stuck on that letter.

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That night, Harry snuck out of his cupboard, silently thanking his luck that in his rage Uncle Vernon had forgotten to lock Harry into his cupboard. Advancing to the door, Harry clutched the letter he had written in his hand. It was a long shot, and Harry was tempted to call himself crazy, but something about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's reactions shook him to the core. If this was real, and if there really was a school out there for magic, Harry wanted, no, needed it to be true.

Stepping out into the night, Harry instantly spotted a brown owl, resting upon one of the power lines the crisscrossed Privet Drive. Making eye contact the bird swooped down, its large yellow eyes settling on the letter in Harry's hand.

"Letter for Hogwarts?" Harry half asked and stated, trying to ignore the slight quiver in his voice. The owl let out a small hoot, as if sensing his nervousness and held out his leg. Harry looked at the letter in his hand, realizing he had no way to secure it. Looking down at the hem of his shirt, Harry supposed he had thread to spare. He ripped a strip of cloth from the shirt and with shaky hands tied the letter to the owl's leg.

"Umm, it's for Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Uh, thank you?" Harry sheepishly scratched the back of his head, a nervous tick he didn't quite have control over. The ow hooted and was off. As Harry watched the owl fly away, he couldn't help but feel like something was seriously about to change.

 _ **So that was the first chapter, I'm still figuring things out, so forgive me if formatting is a bit weird. Thanks so much and reviews are always welcome!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, I wasn't expecting the attention that this got, and originally this began as a half-baked plot bunny thing that wouldn't leave me alone. I'm more of a fanfic reader than I am a writer, so I wasn't really planning anything beyond the first chapter. Seeing the responses though, I figured I would take some time to plan and flesh this story out a bit more. Also, I'm trying to decide if Harry should have a cat or an owl. The Potters had a cat when Harry was a baby and I think I'd like to include that somehow.**

 **Thanks to everyone for the reviews, favorites and follows.**

 ***Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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Harry sighed as he placed a plate on the table. It was his birthday, and about a week had passed since he sent his letter away in the dead of night. After two days with no response Harry had given up hope, berating himself for foolishly believing in things like magic and letter delivering owls. Just as Harry placed the last plate and the Dursleys began to eat came the telltale sound of knocking at the door.

"Boy! The door!" Harry rolled his eyes, already on his way to the door without the needless yelling from Uncle Vernon. Taking a moment to calm his annoyance, Harry opened the door his greeting caught in his throat as he looked up at the most severe looking woman he'd ever seen.

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Minerva McGonagall considered herself to be a very orderly, prepared and dignified woman who also knew when to do a bit of rule bending and how to enjoy a drink every now and again. It was in fact, a drink she nearly spilled on herself upon receiving a response from one Harry Potter.

 _ **Dear Deputy Headmistress,**_

 _ **I am not sure as to the existence of your school. The reaction of my relatives suggests there is more here than what they are willing to share. If Hogwarts truly exists then I may require some help, as it would appear my relatives will not allow me to attend. Of course, I could be making a complete fool of myself and this could all be a prank.**_

 _ **I would truly appreciate any form of help or response.**_

 _ **Yours sincerely,**_

 _ **Harry J. Potter**_

 _ **Prospective Student**_

Minerva had practically growled with outrage before storming from her office to have _words_ with Albus, she knew that those people were of the worse sort and now, Harry Potter – _The Bloody Boy Who Lived! –_ would be flying into Hogwarts and the magical world completely blind!

Looking down at the scrawny mess of a boy before her, Minerva couldn't help but think that the situation would be worse than she anticipated. He looked positively tiny, drowning in clothes at least 3 sizes too big, and looking for all the world like he was 9 as opposed to 11. As she peered down at the worryingly thin boy she couldn't deny the strength and intelligence in his eyes. He seemed to take her in all at once, evaluating and calculating just what he might be able to expect from her. Taking a second to compose herself, she addressed him.

"Mr. Potter, my name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts, may I come in?"

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"Mr. Potter, my name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts, may I come in?"

Harry composed himself, "Of course, though I must warn you. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia won't like that you're here." Harry stepped to the side to allow the woman in.

"Don't you worry about that," came the reply. "I'll deal with them, there is much for us to discuss"

In that moment, the laborious footsteps of Uncle Vernon alerted Harry to his approach. "Boy! Who the bloody hel – YOU! WE DON'T WANT YOUR KIND HERE! HE'LL NOT BE GOING TO THAT BLOODY FARCE OF A SCHOOL! BOY GET TO YOUR CUPBOARD NOW!" Harry couldn't help the flinch that came. He'd only ever seen Uncle Vernon this mad a few times in his life. The whale of a man's face was positively purple with rage, spittle flying everywhere. Regardless, looking at the Professor's face, Harry almost pitied Vernon.

"Come now, Vernon, a man such as yourself should know to show respect to his house guests and as for _Harry's_ attendance, well that's been taken care of, so I suggest we move this meeting to the sitting room and discuss like civilized people," leaving no room for argument McGonagall practically glided through the house and past Vernon, ignoring the spluttering from Aunt Petunia and the awestruck look Dudley was giving her.

Not missing the way Professor McGonagall stressed his name, Harry quickly followed her, with the Dursleys following and between the three taking up the entire couch.

"Now listen here, we swore when we took him in that we'd stamp this magic nonsense out of him. He'll not be going to that school, and that's final! You won't see a penny out of us!"

"Oh dear," Harry looked at the Professor with a worried expression on his face as she said those words. "It would seem there has been some confusion. You see, Harry sent a reply owl, and as such has been accepted. As for tuition, well, Mr. Potter is the heir to the Potter family and while not quite nobility, is certainly wealthy enough to take care of his tuition and then some. In fact, considering how famous he is and the interest on his accounts, I wouldn't be surprised if he's accumulated enough to take care of himself and several generations of his family already, and that's not to mention the properties he will inherit." Professor McGonagall finished with a small smirk on her face. With a glance on at the Dursleys it wasn't hard to see why she was so pleased with herself Harry mused to himself.

With every passing word, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had gone progressively paler, an impressive feat for people already the type of white that made them look sickly. Uncle Vernon in particular looked to be more out of breath than usual and Aunt Petunia's eyes had grown to practically the size of dinner plates. To be honest with himself, Harry supposed he wasn't much better off. Heir? Famous? Money?! Him?! Harry wasn't all quite sure that Professor McGonagall had the right person, but he could see that now was not the time to ask questions.

"S-so what?!" Shouted Vernon, trying to regain composure and control. "You think we'll just allow one in the house?! You have no rig-" "Vernon, stop." All eyes turned to Aunt Petunia as she interrupted her husband. Looking straight at Harry, he felt uncomfortable under her gaze as she paused, took a breath, and spoke to him.

"We've done what we can to keep you away from them, th-the wizards," Harry noted how she said wizard like it pained her and disgusted her at the same time. "Of course, with my sister and her husband being what they were there was no doubt you would be one too. She went off to that – that _school_ too and then she went and got herself blown up, dead, in an instant. I'm done, I am washing my hands of you. You'll take Dudley's second bedroom the rest of your time here. We won't bother you and you won't have to deal with us. When it's time and you're an adult by their standards, you leave and never come back."

The silence was deafening, Harry could see how badly Uncle Vernon wanted to contest and Dudley looked ready to throw a tantrum of epic proportions. Realizing he had yet to speak, Harry cleared his voice "That's fine by me, I can take care of myself, you lot saw to that." At that McGonagall interjected. "I will be taking Mr. Potter supply shopping today, we will return later this evening. Tomorrow morning, I will return at 8:30 am to retrieve Mr. Potter for his journey to school, you will not need to see him again until term ends on the Friday of the third week of June" Harry watched as Aunt Petunia nodded, "Understood" came her reply.

"Well then, we'd best get going, we have much to do and discuss I suspect," Harry got up quickly and followed the Professor out the door and down the street, pausing briefly in confusion as she turned down an alley. Turning around, she beckoned him closer. "Mr. Potter," she began "I understand that this must be much for you to take in, but today will have to be a crash course on the Wizarding world and your very, erm, unique, circumstances. This will be both your first bit of information and the first bit of magic you will see today." Excited and nervous Harry nodded, "I'm ready professor."

"Good," she replied. "I took us down this alley because the wizarding world and muggle, or non-magical, worlds are kept separate. If you or I were to be caught doing magic we would be in serious trouble with the Ministry if Magic, our government. What we will be doing now is called Side-Along Apparition, it is a method of transportation, and will be quite uncomfortable for you I'm afraid. To muggles I believe it is known as teleportation."

Just from those words Harry's head was practically spinning. Could wizards really teleport? He could feel his excitement and nerves grow.

"You'll have to grab on to my arm, tightly now, yes that's it. Now, as the feeling washes over you, don't fight it, just let it go naturally. Ready? Okay, one, two, and three!"

Instantly, Harry felt squeezed from all direction and the grip McGonagall had on his arm tightened. Everything went black and he couldn't breathe. Harry closed his eyes, just letting the feeling pass before he felt his feet hit the ground and the experience was over as soon as it began. He doubled over, gasping for breath while Professor McGonagall looked on with amusement in her eyes.

"Is, is it always like that?" Harry asked breathlessly. "When you do it by yourself you will find that Apparition is easier and not quite as nauseating" came the reply. Standing up straight Harry turned to face the witch. "So, it still stinks even when you're by yourself? Great, I'll be staying away from that one."

Professor McGonagall smiled, "Come along Mr. Potter," she led them out onto the sidewalk and continued down before stopping in front of the oldest, most suspect looking pub entitled The Leaky Cauldron. "This is the entrance to the Wizarding World here in London, this pub is protected by special enchantments and wards meant to keep muggles from noticing its existence. I must warn you now, you are very famous in our world, which means that people will likely try to swarm you. Our goal for now is to get a table, some breakfast and then I can answer your questions, okay?"

Harry blinked as his brain tried to process what was said. Aside from the whole famous thing, they had really just teleported to London, what was normally an hour drive took them barely seconds! Steeling his nerves Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall "I'm ready."

Walking into the establishment went fine for all of 5 minutes. As the pair walked towards a quiet corner of the pub a ridiculously large man with a long scruffy beard and a pink umbrella in hand approached, his voice booming for all to hear "Blimey! If it innit Harry Potter. Welcome back! I remember yer mum an' dad like it was yesterday. I dare say you'll make em proud yet!"

And with those few words, in a decidedly thick and brutish accent, madness descended upon Harry as he was suddenly shaking hands and saying thank you to what seemed like every witch and wizard under the sun.

BANG!

All eyes turned to see Professor McGonagall, wand in the air, tip still lightly crackling with red sparks. The very image of imposing, she spoke calmly, her voice carrying over the quiet pub. "Yes, Mr. Potter is here, unfortunately however, we are very busy today, and considering how many of you I have taught I would suggest you back away and resume your activities, lest I remind you all what detention is like." The pub was a scramble of activity as witches and wizards alike shuddered at the thought of an angry Professor McGonagall and rushed back to their tables, still whispering and sending glances back at The Boy Who Lived.

Turning to face the giant of a man, Harry noticed he at least had the decency to look sheepish. "This, Mr. Potter, is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You'll never find a kinder man, though his ability for discretion leaves much to be desired."

"Err, sorry 'bout that Professor," came Hagrid's reply. "I was in the Alley on a bit o' business for Dumbledore and thought I'd stop by for a pint. I saw Harry an' I could'n help but be excited. I knew yer parents ya'know."

Harry started, realizing the last bit to be directed at him. He looked up at the man, taking in his kind eyes that reminded Harry of the younger kids at school and he smiled. "Well, you work at Hogwarts, right? If you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate if you could tell me more about them."

Harry could have sworn tears formed in those eyes as Hagrid gave his enthusiastic reply, complete with a promise to owl him after his first week of classes before rushing off, mumbling something about Dumbledore, packages, and deliveries.

Shaking her head at his antics, Professor McGonagall lead Harry to a booth in the corner, and after they made themselves comfortable and ordered their breakfast she spoke, "I'm sure you have many questions Mr. Potter, now is your time to ask"

Harry sat in silence, his inquisitive nature warring with his carefully cultivated logic and common sense, as he tried to think of a starting point before he sighed, seemingly defeated and uttered "Wizard?"

The Professor smiled "Yes, a male capable of magic is a wizard, or warlock depending on who you ask, and a female capable of magic is a witch."

"How is it that I had no idea this existed, heck the entire world has no clue magic exists!"

"That, Mr. Potter, is because of what Muggles have called the Witch Hunts. Magic was persecuted, and while the Muggle population have been led to believe they largely executed innocent people, women specifically, the truth is they were able to execute enough real witches that we were pushed to go into hiding. By then the two communities were already separated, but the Witch Hunts created complete isolation."

Harry digested this bit of information before moving on, "So my family is famous, what exactly happened? Aunt Petunia said my parents got themselves blown up."

Professor McGonagall visibly steeled herself, "The first thing you should know, Mr. Potter, is that magic can be used to do terrible, evil things and it can do great, amazing things, and how we use magic depends on the person. Years ago, the Wizarding World of the U.K. was thrown into chaos by a madman, known as -" and here Harry watched as she stopped and looked around, before leaning in closer "V-Voldemort." Harry swore he felt a chill run through the room and that several people hushed. Looking at the Professor strangely, she continued.

"We do not like to say his name and refer to him as You-Know-Who or as He Who Must Not Be Named. He wanted to rule Wizarding Britain and rose to power, killing all those who opposed him. Your parents were a part of a group of people opposing him, leading the resistance, but when Lily, your mother, became pregnant with you they went into hiding. You were born and then a year and three months later, on Halloween, he attacked. No one knows what happened, but the house was in ruins, your parents passed, and You-Know-Who had disintegrated. All we know is that he cast what is called the Killing-Curse, and you are the first person to survive as his spell somehow rebounded on him, leaving you with the name The Boy Who Lived and your scar."

Harry sat quiet for a while, not really sure what to do with the information that his family had been targeted by a madman. He absently rubbed at his scar before looking up, "So how did You-Know-Who gain power in the first place? If he was a madman how could he be so powerful?"

The Professor cleared her throat "He appealed to the divide in our community. You see, there are some families who believe that Muggle-borns, that is to say witches and wizards born into muggle families, should not be allowed into our world. They are known as blood-purists and are called purebloods as they have produced witches and wizards going back generations. We also have half-bloods, which is what you are Harry, and they are the offspring of one pureblood parent and a muggle or muggle-born."

"Okay, so he got a bunch of racists on his side, how did that help?"

"Our government was established by those old, pureblooded families and so many of them had political and financial power. Back then, You-Know-Who had used his followers' connections to infiltrate the Ministry and all other departments. That is to say, not all of the old families followed him or hold to pureblood beliefs, but he targeted those families so as to remain unopposed."

They took took a small break as they ate and drank, Harry taking the necessary time to process the information. Once they finished their meal, Harry began with his next question, "Is there anything to the argument against muggle-borns, or are they just prejudiced for no reason at all?"

Professor McGonagall eyed Harry, "With the questions you ask, I wouldn't be surprised at all if you ended up in Ravenclaw. Mr. Potter, to understand this you should first know that magic is generally classified as Light, Grey or Dark. That is not to say dark magic is evil, any magic of any category can be used to harm. Children who grow up in the wizarding world understand this distinction. You should also understand what is called a Talent. All witches and wizards have an area their magic is most attuned to. Some may be excellent at wards, whereas others may be attuned to plants, the study of which is called herbology, and in many cases a Talent runs in families, understood so far?"

"Magic can be light, grey or dark and dark doesn't necessarily mean bad. Witches and wizards have a sort of calling known as a Talent where they can do best in. Got it"

"Good, this is all relevant because older families often have more obscure talents, your family, the Potter family, started out as simple potterers. It is in fact, where you got your name from. Over time, the ability to work with clay manifested in a Talent for Golemancy, the ability to create, program, and manipulate golems, creatures or humanoids made of clay and earth."

"Professor, this is all really interesting, but I don't really see how the two topics connect."

"Golemancy, and many other branches of magic, are considered dark, mainly because of certain spells or rituals that may require human ingredients such as blood or hair or they may require ingredients of powerful dark creatures such as basilisk venom. Even muggle-borns have Talents, but for them the idea of dark but not evil is harder to grasp. Over time branches of magic have become outlawed and taboo among the populace as muggle-borns bring their ideas with them and Ministers who have been pro-muggle have catered to their wishes. For many who remember the old ways, it is difficult to watch the decline of once flourishing branches of magic."

Harry allowed that though to sit with him. He supposed he could somewhat understand. In the past few hours he'd been given a part of his heritage, golemancy was something Harry really hoped to learn about. But just as he'd been given a piece of his heritage to cling to it was marred by the idea that some considered it evil. Granted Harry realized he knew nothing of the subject, so it could very well be horrible, but it still sucked.

"So," Harry began. "The situation is twisted and not great. Muggle-borns don't know enough about wizarding culture to get that magic is magic and not necessarily evil, and purebloods are so stuck and set in their ways that they'd allow a madman to commit what amounts to a holocaust on muggle-borns."

Despite the gravity of the political climate described by the young wizard, Professor McGonagall could not quite control the smirk on her face as she replied "Precisely, of course there are your exceptions, your mother was quite amazing to watch, her Talent was for enchanting, a branch of magic that combined runes and charms to create long lasting effects. Unfortunately, the two sides are so busy yelling at each other that no one is willing to listen."

Harry nodded, and something in his gut told him that this tension could only cause problems in the future. Seeing the Professor begin to stand Harry followed as she led him out the back of the pub to a brick wall which she proceeded to prod at with her wand.

"We have covered much Mr. Potter, and we still have your shopping to take care of. Once the school year is underway, my door is open if you wish to discuss further." Her voice got progressively louder as Harry heard the scraping of brick on brick. Soon enough he saw a hole gradually form and get bigger before the entire brick wall had folded in on itself, revealing a market Harry swore was straight from a fantasy novel. "For now," the witch continued. "Welcome to Diagon Alley!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, here's the next chapter, I've decided that Harry will be getting a cat, and hopefully you guys enjoy how I managed to work that in. In hindsight, starting this right before I had to go back to school probably wasn't a good idea. But school is out and insomnia sucks, so I hope to dedicate more time to writing this. Again, thanks for your support and sorry for the wait!**

 ***Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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"Welcome to Diagon Alley!"

Harry looked at the packed market street in awe. The shops appeared to have been put together by a child with a Lego set. Buildings took weird shapes and looked completely incongruous, in a multitude of colors. Everywhere Harry looked witches and wizards went about their business, haggling prices and casually using magic as they pleased. Looking upon the scene one might feel overwhelmed, but Harry loved it.

As the duo made their way through the crowds, Professor McGonagall explained their plan for the rest of the day. Truth be told, however, Harry was still taking in all the sights and smells before him. So captivated was he that he nearly bumped into McGonagall, managing to catch himself at the right moment before looking at the grand building and burnished bronze doors before him.

"This," the witch began, "is Gringotts Bank. Before we go in I must inform you that the bank is run entirely by goblins. Wizards and goblins have a tumultuous history and even in these times relationships are strained. Be polite, yet direct and to the point and you should have no issues with them."

As they walked up the steps and through the bronze doors, they faced a second set of doors, this time in silver. Above, Harry noticed an inscription engraved there.

 _ **Enter, stranger, but take heed**_

 _ **Of what awaits the sin of greed,**_

 _ **For those who take, but do not earn,**_

 _ **Must pay most dearly in their turn.**_

 _ **So if you seek beneath our floors**_

 _ **A treasure that was never yours,**_

 _ **Thief, you have been warned, beware**_

 _ **Of finding more than treasure there.**_

McGonagall turned to Harry, "As you can see, goblins take gold and ownership very seriously, anyone trying to steal from them would have to be mad." McGonagall turned back and walked briskly into the bank.

Harry walked through the doors and found himself in a large marble hall, goblins lined the walls behind long counters scribbling in books and weighing coins on scales. Harry even though he saw Hagrid being led through one of the many doors. He followed the witch as she walked right up to a teller.

"Good morning," began Professor McGonagall "We've come to make a withdrawal and inquire as to the status of Mr. Potter's vault. I have his key right here". At that she handed over a tiny golden key.

Upon inspection the goblin handed the key back, "Very well, Griphook shall escort you to the vault, and we shall have a summary of Mr. Potter's accounts waiting for you."

Yet another goblin came from around the corner and the pair followed him through a door. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in and were off, racing down the track.

Harry's face lit up, and he rose his arms into the air, imagining that this must be what a rollercoaster must feel like. Harry whooped and hollered all the way down, missing the small smirk McGonagall sent his way. All too soon, the ride was over and they were instructed to exit the cart, with Griphook walking up to an ornate door and giving it stroke. Clicks echoed off the walls as the door unlocked and swung open, revealing piles of gold, silver, and bronze that Harry thought only existed in fairy tales.

"I think 50 galleons should do it Mr. Potter, and that includes any pocket money you'll need. Of course, arrangements can be made to procure more funds should the need arise." Still awestruck and looking around, Harry absently nodded, moving towards the piles before a small bookshelf towards the back of the room caught his eye. "What's that?" Harry asked, directing his question in the general direction of the goblin and Professor McGonagall.

"Those," began Professor McGonagall as she moved forward to inspect the only two books on the shelves, "seem to be the books of the Potter Family and your mother."

"Books?" questioned Harry.

"I believe muggle fairy tales mention the existence of grimoires, yes?" Seeing Harry nod, the professor continued, taking on a familiar tone Harry was coming to recognize as her lecturing voice. "These books go by many names, grimoire being one of them. Grimoires often contain all the knowledge and secrets amassed by families as they study and make advancements in the field of their Talent. Over time, they become imbued by the special brand of magic all members of the family share. Many witches and wizards will keep their grimoires with them as the magic they contain can help with more powerful or difficult spells."

Harry interrupted at this point, "So the Potter Grimoire contains golemancy magic, but why would my mother have a grimoire?"

"Well, Mr. Potter, all grimoires must start somewhere. Your mother was exceptionally gifted with her Talent, and she wanted to carry on that legacy. They agreed that for every child they had who was a Potter they would have another who was Evans. Your mother began writing her own Evans Family grimoire on the Talent of enchanting, purposefully imbuing it with magic to make it that much more powerful as opposed to allowing it to absorb magic over the years."

"Professor?" Harry began. "How do I know which Talent I inherited? Is there a chance I inherited both?"

At this, McGonagall muttered to herself in thought, before clearing her throat and addressing Harry. "Talents are a mysterious thing we have been trying to understand for centuries. Frankly, it is impossible to tell which Talent you have inherited, most discover theirs by testing out beginner spells in areas that interest them. It has also been known for a child to have inherited both Talents of their parents, particularly if the two Talents work well together. As I mentioned, golemancy involves the creation and programming of golems, which enchanting is a very large part of, so it very well may be that you have inherited both Talents. Only time shall tell, however."

Harry nodded. "Can I take them?"

"Of course!" said the Professor. "They are yours, and we can find special harnesses so that they are always with you in the Alley. Now come, we still have much to do."

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Now back in the Alley, and with the books tucked away in McGonagall's robe with a promise to take care of them, Harry took a moment to look at his list of required supplies.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

 **UNIFORM**

 **First-year students will require:**

 **1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)**

 **2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**

 **3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**

 **4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)**

 **Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags**

 **COURSE BOOKS**

 **All students should have a copy of each of the following:**

 **The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk**

 **A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot**

 **Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling**

 **A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch**

 **One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore**

 **Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger**

 **Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander**

 **The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble**

 **OTHER EQUIPMENT**

 **1 wand**

 **1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**

 **1 set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales**

 **Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad**

 **PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARENOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**

"Come, Mr. Potter, I shall take you to be fitted for robes first, and while you are there, I recommend you browse for other clothing as well. I shall meet you outside the shop having procured your potions equipment and a trunk."

Harry dutifully followed the Professor to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, handed her the requested amount of money, and walked in to Madam Malkin's shop.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a foot stool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley and fell into his much-practiced technique of half-listening, giving a halfhearted reply as necessary. The boy was going on about the injustice of first years and brooms when the seamstress announced Harry was done. He was never so happy to get away and shop for clothes.

As he briefly wondered about what sized pants he should get, the boy walked past, being escorted by stoic looking woman. The boy glanced at Harry, "The name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. And I suppose I'll be seeing you on the train."

Harry nodded back, having made his choice in pants, and replied "Harry Potter, and I guess I will." He barely caught the look of shock on Draco's face before he turned around and disappeared further into the racks of clothing.

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Harry was exhausted, after meeting him at the robe shop and complimenting him on his choice of hoodie and jeans, McGonagall had shown him how to work his trunk and access the different compartments, one for books, one for clothes, on for potions ingredients and equipment and a final compartment for general storage. She'd had him change, and presented a holster, belt contraption to go around his waist and hold his Grimoires. From there, the pair had gone shopping and gotten everything on the list aside from a pet and the wand.

"We shall first head to Ollivander's. It's the premier place in London to find a wand, but I must warn you that Mr. Ollivander can be, well, a bit eccentric."

Armed with that knowledge, the two entered the shop and Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly."

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where ..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do. ..."

He shook his head then and sighed.

"Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see."

He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and, feeling foolish, waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"

Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander."

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, well find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now —yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Yet this wand, too, was snatched away. "Yes, yes, there is potential here, but you will require one of my rarer services."

At this Harry watched as Mr. Ollivander changed his sign to closed, and when Harry made eye contact with Professor McGonagall, she seemed just as confounded and intrigued as he was.

"Mr. Potter," began the wandmaker, "I believe that we have seen a few reactions, but none which have provided a true match, so I shall have to make you a blended wand."

"A blended wand?" interjected the Professor.

Mr. Ollivander turned his head at the sound of her voice, as if only ow registering that she was still in the room.

"I find that wizards of complex pasts and much potential require the power, stability and versatility of a wand that has more than one type of wood. These blended wands match more closely to their wielder's complexity and bring out the very best of their wielder's magic."

With this Ollivander grabbed the holly and phoenix feather wand as well as one of the beech wands of a similar length, carrying both to the back of the shop. The professor and student saw flashes of light and could feel magic swirling where Ollivander had to be working. He came back and presented Harry with a most curious looking wand.

It was two toned, the light brown of the beech and the darker brown of the holly winding around each other, but smooth, they blended into each other with no visible seam. The wand itself was long, and he could make out a swirling engraving that branched out towards the tip looking as though it morphed from rolling waves into vines with leaves. Harry felt more drawn to this wand than any of the other he'd tried and reached for it.

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red, silver and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots and streams of light on to the walls. McGonagall gasped and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good!"

"Beech and holly, with phoenix tail feather, 14 inches exactly, pliable but strong. This is a wand suited for power and artistry, both grace and strength. I believe you'll find particular success in both the fields you inherited from you parents. But, well ... how curious ... how very curious ..."

Mr. Ollivander put Harry's wand into a box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious ... curious."

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather —just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

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Harry's head hung low even as he turned his wand over in his hand, feeling the way it resonated with him. How was he supposed to react? The news that his wand was related to the man who ruined his life left a bad taste in his mouth. He was pull from his musing, however, when the Professor cleared her throat. Looking around, he realized they were standing in front of a pet shop.

"Harry," the professor started, using his first name this time. "As I'm sure you noticed students are allowed a familiar. I have someone I would like you to meet." With that she turned and entered the store. Together they walked to the counter and McGonagall spoke to the clerk in hushed whispers, before they were led to another room, where several older looking owls and cats were. McGonagall walked right up to an old, grey cat that upon further inspecting, Harry noted had a forked tail.

"This is the kneazle your mother had for a familiar when she came to school. When your parents died, I took her in for a while, but she's old, and with the death of her bonded witch she is very frail and sick"

At this Harry looked to McGonagall for further explanation. "We select our familiars at a young age, and we bond with them slowly, over time. Eventually, you will learn how to use magic to interact with your familiar. They can be incredibly useful."

Harry looked back at the kneazle. He reached his finger through the cage, giggling as she nuzzled and nipped at his finger. She gave his finger a lick, before abruptly sitting up. From underneath Harry saw a set of eyes green as his own. There was a kitten, her coat seemed to shine between grey and black as the light hit it and she too had a forked tail. She walked up and Harry lowered his finger. She sniffed curiously, before beginning to bat at it as Harry wiggled his finger back and forth. He pulled away and turned to Professor McGonagall sadly.

"Thank you, Professor. But I don't believe my relatives will take too kindly to a pet."

"Never you mind about them. Every young witch and wizard deserve a familiar. I will deal with your relatives. She is a half-kneazle, I believe, and if you want her, she's yours."

It was a very happy Harry Potter that exited the Magical Menagerie a kitten riding in the front pouch of his sweater as though she were a kangaroo. They had purchased all of the required equipment and were on their way back to Privet Drive. The sun hung low in the sky and Harry couldn't help but feel nervous as to what the Dursley's would do once they were back. He had the distinct feeling, however, that McGonagall was his ally, and if she had her way, then Harry knew he would have nothing to worry about.


End file.
